


Summer 2006

by scarletjedi



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Complete, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving down the highway, listening to the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer 2006

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Proxydialogue for beta-ing this in the midst of her DCBB crazyness. Thanks to Tumblr for introducing me to Welcome to Night Vale.

It had been a long freakin’ year. Dean was tired, bone-weary and aching. His eyes felt gritty as they stared down the endless blacktop in the Impala’s headlights. He was tired—fuzzy—but his mind was spinning. He itched with the urge to move, to stretch, and longed for restful sleep.

Sam was asleep in the passenger seat—his long legs folded like a spider’s and his head resting against the window. His mouth hung open. It was a familiar sight from childhood and Dean just let it happen. After the past few months, between Jessica and Dad and the headaches, Sam deserved the sleep. Let him rest. 

The tape deck was busted, had been since a lost spirit in Omaha took a liking to Dean and decided to move into his stereo. Salt and electronics did not mix. Still, by some miracle, only the tape deck was affected, so the radio was turned low, just a hum of melody that skipped from one track to the next, the drone of the DJ in-between, and as the station finally gave way to static, Dean pressed the “search” button, looking for the next few miles of noise.

The voice, when it came through, was clear and dark like staring up into the winter sky on a starless night.

“Reality is an illusion performed with mirrors and misdirection as fate pulls a rabbit from its hat. Welcome to Night Vale.”

The show theme started to play and Dean looked at the radio. “The fuck?” He whispered, so as not to wake Sammy. “College radio?” _No,_ he thought. _Community radio._ Like that was any better.

“John Peters, you know, the farmer, reports the presence of an adolescent sized glow-cloud just off the edge of his property. It isn’t moving and seems to be giving off a, quote, ‘rebellious teenage attitude.’ John Peters said he’s going to investigate and let us know. Good luck, John Peters. More on that as it develops.”

Dean shook his head. It had to be some kind of radio-show. A glow cloud? Really?

“In other news, the sheriff’s secret police have arrested Old Jim Verne today, on a charge of second degree time travel: divulging information and/or technology from the future to your past self. First degree time travel, as you know, is donation genetic material to your previous family tree in order to become your own direct ancestor. Ironically, Old Jim Verne was attempting to teach young Jim Verne how to build a time machine.

“Young Verne, being the good citizen that he is, reported his future self immediately by speaking into the nearest telephone. 

“The Sheriff issued the following statement in response to Old Jim Verne’s protest that, when he’s from, time travel is perfectly legal. _The legality of time travel in one’s home time has no bearing on the illegality of it in the present. Ignorance of this temporal confusion is no excuse. I mean, come on. Really?_

“Citizens of Night Vale, I find I have to agree.” 

Dean snickered, despite himself. Maybe he should wake Sam. He glanced over at his brother as they passed under a street lamp; Sam’s face looked impossibly young in the fleeting shadows. Dean turned away. 

“And now a word from our sponsors….

“Life is an empty void. Reality is meaningless. Time is worthless. Your existence is insignificant. Now, that’s the stuff. Hostess.” 

Dean licked his lips. Odd add, but now he really wanted a Twinkie. Next rest stop, he was gonna get one. There were lights in the distance, a warm glow. He’d stop there. 

“And now, traffic.” 

_Oh, good,_ Dean thought, looking around at the empty road. _Just what we need._

“The Sheriff’s secret police have reported that all the traffic lights will be inverted at random and without warning, as is their custom every third week of every fourth month of every fifth year. As always, remember: green means go, blood-curdling screams mean stop.” 

Dean felt a throb begin behind his eye and shook it off. 

“More news from John Peters; the glow cloud has made contact! Saying, _What do you care about my existence? You don’t know what it’s like to be me! You’re not my father! I’m old enough, I can do what I want!_

“When asked for comment, John Peters said, _All Hail the glow cloud! Glory be to the glow cloud!_

“Oh, _teenagers_. Humanoid life form or amorphous glowing cloud, they’re all the same.” 

_The Fuck?_

“Reports continue that the cloud has started to skulk away—because it wants to, not because you told it to—towards highway 800.

“And now: The Weather.” 

Music started, and the song was halfway over before Dean realized it wasn’t intro music. It wasn’t Zeppelin….but it wasn’t bad, either. 

In fact, it reminded Dean of his first summer as a solo hunter, driving the endless stretch of highways as loneliness gave way to a desperate freedom. For the first time out from under the ever-knowing eye of his father, without the responsibility of Sam, Dean had thrown himself into every pleasure once denied. He slept in. He ate nothing but pie and cheeseburgers for a week. He bought a jacked just because it looked good. He watched the entirety of _Deep Space 9_. 

In the first big city he found, he went to _that_ kind of neighborhood, dressed _that_ way, and went home with _that_ kind of guy. His memories were a swirl of hot, dark nights, of bright, sparkling lights in clubs humid with the press of bodies, of loud music that echoed through his ribs, his heart, his mind and set the rhythm of his lips, his hips. 

(One city became two, became four, became every as he gorged himself on every affection, every touch he had been too scared to reach out for.)

Dean had left that summer older, wiser, and settled into himself in a way he’d never imagined possible. He knew he looked great in green, that a week of cheeseburgers meant a month of pain, and bodies, all bodies, were lovely. Dean still preferred his self-confidant and willing, but he occasionally got hung up on short dark hair, bright blue eyes. 

Sometimes, the flicker of cheap fluorescents and muted thumping baseline would take him back to a summer when everything he could be met everything he was, and Dean walked on the knife’s edge of possibility. 

The music stopped and Dean realized that, despite the lack of buildings, the glow ahead was getting brighter. _Adolescently_ The DJ was speaking, but all Dean could hear was the droning—

The chanting—

The—

_All Hail the Glow Cloud! Praise be the Glow Cloud! Submit to the Glow Cloud! All fall before the Glow Cloud—_

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

Dean snorted awake to the sound of static, jerking the wheel to pull back into his lane. There were no other cars, thank fuck, but desert sand wasn’t good for his baby’s undercarriage. He pulled over to sit and breathe for a moment. 

He had no idea how long he had been asleep. It couldn’t have been for more than a moment, but it felt longer. Far longer. But he couldn’t remember anything after hitting the “seek” button. He couldn’t _remember_. 

Sam still slept and Dean was loathe to wake him. Dean considered spending the night in the car, but there was something telling him to move on. Dean didn’t get as far as he had in life by ignoring that voice. 

As he pulled away, looking for the next motel with a vacancy, there was a moment of clarity through the radio when he heard an almost familiar voice say, 

“Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.”


End file.
